


The Ficlets

by Elizabeth Klarke (cyanideparty)



Category: Adolf Hitler - Fandom, Historical Criminals RPF, Historical RPF, Real Person Fiction, Third Reich - Fandom, World War 2 - Fandom
Genre: Ficlet Collection, Prompt Fic, Prompt Fill, Reader-Insert, Tumblr Ask Box Fic, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-16
Updated: 2018-10-08
Packaged: 2019-05-09 02:16:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14707208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cyanideparty/pseuds/Elizabeth%20Klarke
Summary: A collection of various ficlets and prompt-fills.





	1. Flowers

**Author's Note:**

> A reichblr-ficaton "three sentence" prompt: "Someone gets some flowers."

There had been something abnormal in Eva’s response to those flowers, the ones that Adolf had given as a request that they simply let bygones be bygones, that he had given as a proposal for a much desired and long overdue reconciliation, that he had given in response to her second attempt at death: a strange hesitancy in accepting them, a sudden anxiety in being around them, an almost outwardly and bizarre aversion toward the sight of them, as though she were looking at death all over again.

And what an odd thing to see in such a universal representation of life, he’d thought–in what is now for them a bittersweet symbol of _rebirth_ ; but he hadn’t asked about it and he doesn’t _want_ to ask about it; because intuition says it will lead back to him and neither of them want to talk about that because they are fine now, everything is back in place, everything is how it should be, everything is how she’d wanted for it to be and how he’d meant for it to be, they are fine now.

That stupid cat-and-mouse game of jealousy, of entitlement, of rejection, of fear, of desertion, doubt and denial that had suddenly become their relationship and had quickly gotten out of hand and then unexpectedly deadly, that is over and they are fine now; she can and should enjoy the sight of those flowers now; he just wants her to be how she used to be whenever she was around him now….


	2. Innocence (Reader Insert)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A reichblr-ficathon "three sentence" prompt: "Hitler x Reader"

Your romantic history is short, almost nonexistent, and he likes this about you, it’s the reason he decides to hunt you down; and he doesn’t even have to bring it up in conversation because the way you fidget and blush and stumble through your silly, innocent responses to his less than innocent advances, it’s clear to him that you’re far from your element, that you’ve never even heard these words before–and that, by this simple math, no man has ever been inside you.

So he’s soft with you, he’s gentle with you, he hides his teeth from you and kisses the back of your hands and the inside of your wrists, and he murmurs into your ear pretty words about your enticing, enviable beauty as you sit beside him, the two of you alone in his den; and you can’t help but lean into him because his breath against your neck is very warm, it makes your skin buzz and tingle in a way you’ve never felt before, ticklish almost, yet oddly addicting; and you want more of it, more of him, so much more.

He welcomes this response, it’s predictable and it’s exactly what he wants; and he becomes a little less soft with you, a little less gentle in his handling of you as he draws you in closer, as he pulls your head back by your hair, as he presses his mouth to your neck; and you remember how you were warned, you were warned the moment they noticed his interest in you, they told you he was a predator; but you allow him to sink his teeth into your neck anyway, to make you gasp, whimper and writhe like the delicate little white lamb that you are.


	3. Symmetry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A reichblr-ficathon prompt: "Symmetry."

The real question on her mind was, for how long had he been thinking about the two of them like this? Days? Weeks? Months? When had the language in his mind moved from “her and him” onto “her _with_ him”? The first time he’d taken her fingers in his own and placed his lips against the back of her hand, had he been imagining what it would feel like to place them against her mouth instead? His eyes had certainly left the possibility behind for her to pick up and take home with her that night. A gift that had seemed to be very intentional.

Or perhaps these ruminations had started the day he began to let those kisses linger against her skin just a second too long to be considered typical, to be considered normal. To be considered appropriate. The day he began to permanently dismantle the already impure innocence of their friendship, slowly and carefully, piece by piece by piece. As piece after piece was kicked away and left to fall between the cracks of the floorboards, forever lost, leaving their innocence without a way to ever be rebuilt.

That had seemed to be very intentional too.

_The real question on his mind was, for how long had she been thinking about the two of them like this? Since the moment they met? When had the scene in her mind changed from “him and her” into “him_ with _her”? The first time his knee had accidentally found hers under the surface of the table, had she been imagining what it would feel like to have her knees riding his hips as she lay on her back beneath his body instead? Her eyes had certainly offered up the fantasy for him to feast upon when he’d finally grown too hungry for her that night. An offering that had proven to be downright irresistible._

_Or perhaps these ruminations had started the day she began to linger in the shop long after the closing hour. He was used to people turning spellbound under his eyes, but she had apparently found herself equally bewitched by how his lips and his tongue worked together as he talked. How he managed to whittle away the sharp edges of their language, and purr from the back of his throat with the gentle sounds of old romance as he promised “Ich werde morgen Abend zurückkommen.”_

_That had proven to be downright irresistible too._

_  
_

But how had his thoughts compared to her own? How had his days compared to her own? Hours and hours of her life consumed by a deep red light and the harsh aroma of chemicals, only to finally emerge from the shadows with a colorless facsimile of their most beloved and their most feared client. The lines were all there, inhumanly precise, the angles of his face clear and unmistakable. Yet the photographs never developed faithfully.

They were not perfect. And to her immense frustration she knew they never, ever would be.

But she was determined to fix that. The world would eventually consider him to be made of more than just the black and the white.

_But how had her thoughts compared to his own? How had her nights compared to his own? Hours and hours of his life consumed by a growing collection of little pink slips of paper covered in lines of soft, feminine words he’d already read a hundred times over, likely more. At first, the prurient intimacy he’d quickly developed with these notes was enough. The reveries were fresh and bright, and they were colorful enough to keep his attentions shackled to himself. But then they began to dull. And fade. And he needed them to be rawer, so much rawer, so he recklessly went at them with a knife, cutting and cutting and cutting until there was no more color left to bleed._

_Suddenly, they were not enough. And to his immense frustration, he knew they never, ever would be._

_But he was determined to fix that. The dimensions and the details of this woman who freely and skillfully manipulated the shape of his desires would eventually be rooted not in opinion, but in irrefutable fact._


End file.
